


Time

by holymalfoys



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco Growing Up, Drarry, Harry Potter - Freeform, M/M, as told by narcissa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-26 16:03:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19009135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holymalfoys/pseuds/holymalfoys
Summary: Watching her son grow was the greatest pleasure and the greatest pain of Narcissa Malfoy’s life.





	Time

**Author's Note:**

> ladies and gentlemen, i present to you:
> 
> the entire story of harry potter, as told by narcissa malfoy.
> 
> WARNING: i changed canon to make it drarry friendly lol

Watching her son grow was the greatest pleasure and the greatest pain of Narcissa Malfoy’s life.

 The day he was born had been a dark and stormy- the fifth of June always brought unpredictability- but, the second he entered the world, the universe seemed to be at rest and the sun came out of hiding. He was so beautiful, so tiny and yet so pointy, and she had never ever wanted to let him go.

There was no name picked out for him, in the beginning, but the second she laid eyes on him it came to her like a well-worn smile. 

“Hello, Draco, my beautiful little dragon.” She had murmured into his little cheek as he gripped her finger. Pure bliss is what she felt as she cradled him in her arms, because this little gift was her life source. He was the blood of her blood, the love of her life, and in that exact moment she knew, without a doubt, that she would die for him.

It was him and her against the world.

His early childhood had been the best years of her life. He grew so quickly, it seemed as though every time she looked at him he grew an inch. She carried him around the gardens, let him touch all the trees and all the flowers as she whispered their names into his ear. 

He was such a curious boy, her Draco was. So curious, so human, so beautiful.

The smallest actions became the biggest milestones. As he grew bigger and bigger, his mind became more curious. 

He loved drawing, loved colouring in. He would sit at the kitchen table with the house elves for hours, just colouring. Draco used to be the best of friends with those elves- he would ask them questions and listen intently to their answers, would run around the gardens with them as Narcissa watched him grow through the window. 

He would fall sometimes, as we all do, and Narcissa would always be waiting with open arms and some healing salves. She would rake her fingers through his hair, tilt his head up and tell him stories of her childhood, tell him how beautiful he was, show him all her spells and her tricks.

In her mind, there was nothing in this world quite like showing him the simplest of spells, like _lumos_ , and watching the wonder in those big grey eyes as his mouth silently repeated the words she told him.

At night time, they would sit together on his bed, him tucked into her elbow, and she would read to him for hours. She would tell him everything that was happening in the world, tell him about Hogwarts and all the little girls and boys who would be his friends, until he fell asleep. 

~

Lucius was never really involved in the childhood, and it drove Narcissa demented.

“That is your son!” She would shout. “Can’t you see the way he looks at you? He thinks you hung the moon and the stars for him, and you never pay attention to him!”

But Lucius would only grunt in response and continue writing the letters that would sell their fates to the devil in years to come.

~

Draco grew so quickly, in the blink of an eye, this curious creature who had his whole life in front of him, that Narcissa could never really grasp the concept of time. This child, who was so very loved and was so bright and beautiful, who would speak to everyone and everything that came his way.

“Do you ever worry for him? I worry for my Pansy, you know, that she’ll never find a husband, that she’ll never bear an heir, that she’ll never grow into her features.” Narcissa’s friend Penelope Parkinson mentioned one day at morning tea, staring out at the lawn and watching Pansy and Draco run around with the elves. Narcissa turned to her and said, 

“No. He is going to be exactly the person he was always meant to be. There is no need for me to worry or to interfere.” And she stood up, walked to the door, and called for Draco so they could go home. 

She was so desperate to protect him against all that could cause him harm. She never wanted her darling boy to face any pain, but she knew he wasn’t hers to keep.

He belonged to the universe, just as she and everyone else did. 

~ 

It was shortly after the visit to the Parkinsons when Lucius suddenly took an interest in his son.

Before her very eyes, Narcissa helplessly watched as Lucius told Draco his own stories. Stories that should never be told to children, stories that spilled over with hate and prejudice. Stories of muggleborns and half-bloods and werewolves and everyone else in their world, and stories of a saviour that would come and save them from such beasts. She watched as Draco stared so lovingly at his father and repeated the words for himself, watched as an ignorance enveloped her darling son, watched as twisted lies buried their way into his heart.

She had cornered Lucius, told him to stop it at once, that he had no right to think that way and that he was corrupting her baby, and still he only grunted and wrote letters that would sell their fates to the devil.

Over time, she came to learn of Harry Potter’s existence; the orphaned son of James Potter and Lily Evans, whom she had gone to school with, had come into his magic and would be starting at Hogwarts with Draco. His powers were exceptional, she was told. He was the saviour of the wizarding world, the defeater of the Dark Lord.

She knew what that meant. It spelled destruction, the erasure of her family, if he won.

~

Narcissa tried with all her might to reverse the words Lucius had said, tried to plant more happiness and love and truth in her son’s heart, but it was too late. Gone was the eleven year old boy who had all the love in the world, replaced instead with a tentative child who still had that love inside of him, but was covered in a mask of not fully developed hatred.

Looking at him, she knew he still had decency, that all her work was not unravelled. She knew he still craved love and adoration, and still wanted to give it but had forgotten how to, and, for the first time in his entire life, she was worried for him. 

~ 

His Hogwarts letter arrived, and back was the little boy who was so joyous and excited. 

But Lucius replaced those feelings with fear and anxiety and even more hatred: “You must get into Slytherin, you must make the quidditch team, you must make friends with Harry Potter. If you fail at these then you have failed our family.”

Narcissa hated that. Draco should have been prepared to enjoy his school years, been prepared to roam the grounds and make friends and be normal and happy and carefree, but their fates had already been sold to the devil. 

~ 

The platform 9¾ was awfully crowded. Draco clutched her hand as they waited for the train, and took in his surroundings.

She felt the moment he laid eyes on Harry Potter deep in her gut. Draco had frozen, and then furiously tugged on her hand.

“Mother! Mother, look! It’s Harry Potter!” The wonder and joy in his voice made her smile. “Mother, we’re going to be the best of friends! I hope he’s in Slytherin, and we get to share a dorm, and…” 

His voice was drowned out when she noticed Harry. A tiny little thing, only a baby, in gigantic clothes and broken glasses. He was pushing his cart and looking around in bewilderment, because she knew he had never seen anything like it before in his life. His hair was jet back and raggedy, and she could see his famous scar even at that distance.

Harry was evidently introduced to the Weasley family already because he was right in the centre of a family of gingers, walking beside Molly Weasley. 

Narcissa had felt a pang in her chest. She had wanted to scoop him up, give him a hug, show him some love, because he was a child, because he had the whole world on his shoulders and he didn’t even know it yet.

_He’s only a boy, only a baby._

She caught Molly’s eye, and could see it all in her face: a perfect reflection of what Narcissa was feeling- pure, unfiltered, motherly adoration and helplessness, because they both already knew the outcome of this little boy’s story. 

She would never admit it, but, in that moment, Narcissa rooted for him. She rooted for this child that had so much to fulfill. She rooted for this boy, who was somebody’s baby, who was already so loved in a world he didn’t yet truly know existed.

She turned away from Molly, hugged Draco to her knees, reminded him to write, and watched him and all those little children board the train and leave home.

~

Draco wrote home every week.

He spoke of Slytherin, potions, Quidditch, his friends and Potter.

Always Potter.

Even then, Narcissa noticed that there was something there. Something different than what Draco felt when speaking about everyone else she’d heard about, but it wasn’t hatred. It was something pretending to be hate… she thought it might’ve been hurt, but there was another underlying current there, too.

Whatever it was, it was something else. Something she might not have known exactly, but she knew there was something there. She knew Harry ruffled her boy’s feathers, and she had no doubt in her mind that Draco ruffled his too.

Those letters were always rushed- she could tell by the scrawled writing- and she collected them and kept them under her bed. Her boy was growing so quickly, she was afraid that a blink of an eye could be a lifetime.

The manor was empty without him, completely devoid of happiness. Narcissa still walked around the gardens and cast her spells, but it just wasn’t the same without having the love of her life running between her legs and asking a constant stream of questions.

Lucius was always at the fireplace, these days. There always seemed to be someone waiting to be Flooed, and Narcissa decided not to probe too deeply just in case she overheard something she didn’t want to hear. 

She still rooted for Harry. 

~

Christmas that year was a quiet affair. Draco’s first term at Hogwarts had changed him. It might’ve just been a slight difference, but Narcissa saw it as clear as the hair on his head.

He seemed more on edge. More angry, maybe, but he was entering his teenage years, and she knew it was only normal for hormones to become obvious. 

Everytime the word Potter was mentioned, though, that caused the biggest reaction. Draco would always stand up, his mouth in a straight line, throw his napkin down and run off to his room. The first few times, Narcissa let is pass, but, after the 5th time in two days, she decided she needed to investigate. 

Standing outside his closed door, she touched her knuckles to the worn wood. 

“Draco, darling? Can I come in?”

Upon hearing no answer, she pushed the door open, and slipped into his room.

The sight broke her heart. He was curled up in a small ball on his bed, his pygmy puff squished against his chest and his cheeks wet with tears.

“Oh, my beautiful dragon… what’s wrong, sweetheart?” She made her way to his bedside and sat down gently. He sniffled, and she reached out and pushed those beautiful, soft, golden locks off his face.

He pushed into her touch, and she swung her legs up beside her. She opened her arms and he crawled into them, resting his head on her shoulder.

“Why… why doesn’t he want to be my friend, mummy?” Draco’s voice was small as he clutched onto Narcissa for dear life. “What did I do wrong?” And he started crying again, big, loud sobs.

She said nothing, only held him closer to her chest. Her poor, poor boy.

Rocking him gently, she said:

“Give it some time, lovely. I promise it will all work out.” She knew it was wrong of her- you can never guarantee anything- but she couldn’t bare to see her boy upset. 

She tucked him under her arm and, for the first time in years, sang him to sleep.

~

The days crept into weeks, and the weeks crept into months.

Summer slunk along, a long, humid thing, and brought with it a tired twelve year old.

Harry Potter was never mentioned at dinner, but Narcissa had often overheard Draco tell their house elf Dobby all about him.

“Dobby, he’s just so _stupid_ , with his stupid scar and stupid friends.” She frowned at that, but he paused before he continued.

“Well, he’s not _really_ stupid. He’s very good at Defence, and he saved his friend Hermione from a big ugly goblin- I told Crabbe and Goyle that I could have killed the beast with my eyes closed, but I couldn’t really- and he plays Quidditch, and he’s kind of good at it- don’t tell anyone I said that…”

Upon hearing that, Narcissa smiled softly and backed away from the closed door. It appeared that her son was doing quite okay, and that was all she needed to hear.

The summer was spent with Lucius constantly coming and going, a long string of meetings and whispers in the shadows.

Narcissa knew the Dark Lord attempted to come back, and was immediately taken down by Potter. She knew what that meant- they all did: Potter was a bigger threat than any of them could have ever imagined, and that meant they all had to be on board.

She hated the way they treated him like a war weapon instead of the twelve year old boy he was.

~

Time kept ticking, and the years passed.

Each year, it seemed, Harry Potter completed another seemingly impossible task and the Dark Lord grew in strength, and Draco refused to speak of any of it at home. She knew her son, though, and so she knew that he spoke of the emerald eyed boy in school. She knew he spoke poorly of him, and knew her son wasn’t well liked- that fact had taken a toll on him.

Draco was fourteen now, with paper-thin skin and long eyelashes, with skittering eyes and shaking hands, with evil men and women breathing down his neck. He never seemed to stop growing, and Narcissa watched all the while.

The Dark Lord had taken up residence in the manor, and brought a string of devoted followers with him. Gone were the sunny days spent in the garden, days full of love and laughter- instead came a shadow passing over the grounds and bringing everyone to the tips of their toes, as though they were dancing on eggshells.

The dungeons were full of innocents who were just born in the wrong families; the walls echoed with their screams as Bellatrix carved skin and howled with manic laughter, and the corridors filled with the slithers of the Basilisk and the wet sound of Voldemort speaking to it in its native tongue. And still Narcissa held her head high and composed herself as she almost always had: with a stone-cold poker face and eagle eye.

Meetings stretched on for longer. Draco was now being called to them, and that terrified her- but she made a vow when he was born: she would die for him- and so she began making appearances, too.

Draco always sat beside her, his eyes always downcast and his eyes always sullen, lifeless, and his hands shaking, and she always had her hand on his thigh, attempting to keep him grounded.

Potter was mentioned frequently, and Draco always had the most curious of reactions. His fingers would tense, his shoulders would rise, his pulse would appear in his neck. And then he would relax, and then it would be normal, and no one ever noticed except for Narcissa. 

She always wondered. What was it about Potter that affected her son? No mention of Pansy or Blaise or even Theo ever brought such a reaction, and it bewildered her.

She thought that maybe, just maybe, he was rooting for Harry, too.

~

The Dark Lord edged ever closer to Draco, and she could do nothing but watch as he whispered things into her boys ear and turned him ever colder and snootier and more furious.

Death Eaters all turned to Draco at meetings now, all asked him questions and evidently placed pressure on him to take the Oath. They spoke of the glory he would have, of the pride the world would feel for him, and told him that if he went through with it then his family would live.

Narcissa contemplated those words. Did they tell Draco they’d murder her if he didn’t take the pledge?

It all came to a head the week before Draco’s fifteenth birthday. There was yet another meeting, yet more tormenting of Draco, when he stood up.

The room fell silent as he gazed down at Narcissa with a closed expression. Except she could see it in his eyes: sheer terror and hurt.

“I, Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black, vow to serve our Lord’s cause and allow my fellow brethren to travel to Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, by any means they will travel safest.”

He took a deep breath, and the rattle in his chest shook Narcissa to her very core. She tried to get to him, tried to tell him to stop, that he didn’t need to do this, but he was closed off to the world, and so she watched helplessly yet again.

“I also promise to assassinate Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, by the order of our Lord.”

He looked numb and dazed as the table stood up and applauded him. Bellatrix’s cackle rang through the manor as Narcissa tried desperately to get her son’s attention, but he avoided her with all of his being. 

Draco, her darling dragon. The little baby she held in her arms, the boy who seeked all the knowledge in the world. The boy who did what he thought was best. The boy who didn’t really have a choice, not in the end.

~

The ceremony was officially held on his fifteenth birthday. Dark magic was wedged under his skin, attempting to burn a hole in his soul, and he fought it silently. Narcissa watched him closely, saw his struggle with it. He didn’t let it consume him, not really, and for that she was proud.

The Dark Lord congratulated him afterwards, running his cold hands over her son’s shoulders. “Well done, my dear boy,” he hissed. “Work starts now. You know what will happen if you fail me: you’ll die, and so will your darling Mummy-” he spun Draco towards Narcissa, and she saw the terror in Draco’s eyes- “and Daddy.”

Not for the first time, she was repulsed by this half-snake, half-man. No child should ever face what Draco did. What Harry would, too, in the end.

She immediately sought out Severus, made him promise to protect her boy. Bellatrix, already bored with the Muggleborns and Halfbloods in the dungeons, performed an Unbreakable Vow, and fate was set in stone.

Narcissa wondered briefly if the same sort of meetings took place with the Weasleys and the Order of the Phoenix. They had to have- this was more than a game- and even a slither of motherly love could be lethal, and she knew deep in her heart that Harry was drowning in it. 

~ 

She didn’t like remembering that year, so she tried not to. Draco turned sixteen and was beyond scared of causing a death, and so he failed to kill Dumbledore- Severus did it instead, and Draco took his wand-, and the Death Eaters infiltrated the school, and time went on.

News broke that Potter and his friends Granger and Weasley were hunting Horcruxes. Time was vital, so Voldemort demanded that Draco was taken out of school and kept in the manor. He suspected that Potter would come to them soon, and so ordered constant high alert.

The days crept on. Plans were made, eggshells were tip-toed upon, and screams haunted the halls. Spies were spread all over England, and one day three came back with the jackpot. 

Granger and Weasley, and a man too beaten to identify, all without their wands; Granger swore up and down that Potter was still out there, searching for another Horcrux, but Narcissa caught her glancing at the man’s face far too often for it to be anyone else.

She knew exactly what it was- a brutal Stinging Hex, fired at his face just before they were caught by Granger- but she didn’t let on. Potter was fully grown, now, and yet his hair stood out at all ends. His eyes were dazzling green, and it definitely couldn’t have been anyone else.

Looking around the room, she inwardly tutted: the men were suspicious, but fell for the story. She wondered how she and Granger came to be the smartest in the manor. Still, her mouth was sealed: this was not her job to do.

She knew Draco knew it was Potter, too: she was standing beside him, had felt his reaction, and took a step back. 

One of the Death Eaters noticed, however. He turned to Draco and said:

“Draco, you go to school with Potter. Inspect this man and tell us the truth- you know what the Dark Lord says.”

Draco crept forwards towards Potter, who was sprawled across the floor. Narcissa saw the way Potter’s eyes darted, knew he thought he was done for, and still she stood like a statue.

Her son fell to his knees in front of the patient. Tenderly, he reached out and pulled Potter up to a sitting position. His hands shook and he sucked his lip into his mouth, and his eyes told the story Narcissa waited to hear for years. He stayed silent as he inspected Potter, who had realised he wasn’t going to be ratted on and who’s eyes bore the same intensity Draco’s did.

She caught on, then: all those years of Draco dancing around the topic of Harry Potter, of him speaking so differently of the Chosen One, of him reacting so strangely to his name.

He loved him.

Her heart shattered into a million pieces for her boy, her son, who had faced such inner turmoil and prejudice everywhere he went in this world. She wanted to sweep him up and carry him far away, to somewhere where the sun always shone on him and he had all the luck and love in the world. She wanted to go back in time to change everything, to shake Draco and tell him it’s okay, he doesn’t need to do this, they could be free.

But time didn’t work like that, and so she watched, aching, as Draco faced the hardest decision of his life: to be, or not to be.

His hair hid his face as he gazed at Harry, as he inspected each of his fingers and cuts and bruises with the subtle kindness Narcissa had drilled into him all those years ago. She noticed as Potter watched him the whole time, didn’t take his eyes off him for one second.

They both knew it: this wasn’t a game. This was a matter of life and death.

And, in the end, Draco chose life. 

He sat back on his haunches, his hair framing his pointy face as he frowned.

“Well, Draco?” said Lucius. “Is it? Is it Harry Potter?”

“I can’t... I can’t be sure,” said Draco, who was very sure and who knew it.

“But look at him carefully, look! Come closer! Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?” Lucius was manic. He was scared too, Narcissa knew, but he was still eager to please, and she thanked Merlin that it wasn’t him who was asked to identify the boy.

Draco’s expression was full of reluctance, even fear.

“I don’t know,” he said, and he stood up.

Narcissa breathed a sigh of relief as Potter was dragged up by his arms, his eyes still staring at Draco and reading one hundred different emotions, as Bellatrix grunted. 

“That’s a pity,” she muttered. “I so love to see blood.”

Her eyes snapped to Granger, and she grinned like a shark.

“Bring the men to the cellar. This one’s mine.”

~

Time ticked by as they waited for the Dark Lord to seal the fates of their prisoners. 

They’d been there for three days, and Draco hadn’t eaten a scrap. Granger was still being ruthlessly abused, and, every time a scream echoed around the silent manor, he flinched.

Eventually, Bellatrix called a meeting in the ballroom, which was closest to the dungeons. The crowd crept towards her slowly- she was well and truly off the rails at that stage- and she was just about to speak when all hell broke loose.

The gate to the dungeons flew open with a force of power Narcissa had never seen before in her life, and Potter, Weasley and Dobby raced out. Dobby, who had summoned a stunned Bellatrix’s wand, fired spells left, right and centre as Weasley made a beeline for Granger, who was stood behind Bellatrix. He grabbed her hand and tugged her to Dobby, but Narcissa wasn’t looking. 

Instead, she watched as Potter looked around and dropped his gaze on Draco. He seemed to hesitate for a second, then turned and summoned Wormtail’s wand. He faced Draco one last time, expression unreadable, before he disapparated with Granger, Weasley and Dobby.

~ 

Time went on, and no one blamed Draco for letting the Golden Trio go.

The days slipped by, and Draco kept growing. He still wasn’t eating and sleeping, and he seemed… faded. He looked like glass, and it broke Narcissa’s heart. She longed to run her hands through his hair and tell him it would be ok, it would all be ok, but she couldn’t.

He belonged to the universe.

News was slow coming in, but eventually they learned that Snape was Headmaster and so Draco returned to school.

The manor was so cold and empty these days. Narcissa longed for her old life.

Then, one morning, a message came through: Harry Potter was back at Hogwarts, and it was go time. They all apparated to the grounds outside of the school, and the war began.

She stayed on the outside of it. It was as though she was looking through grey-tinted glasses: mass destruction and death and fear was everywhere, and somewhere amongst it was her son. It seemed as though she was in a warped universe: she watched as Molly Weasley ruthlessly Avada Kedavra-ed a Death Eater, watched as a student got attacked by Fenrir Greyback, watched as a body fell out of an upstairs window. She was numb to the world, and her only thought was of Draco.

Draco, her beautiful little dragon. Draco, the boy who didn’t have a choice.

After an eternity of fighting, a voice rang inside of her head, and she knew exactly where she needed to go.

They huddled in the Forbidden Forest as they awaited Voldemort and, inevitably, Harry. Hagrid was being held captive, tied to a tree. Silence stung her ears as she worried endlessly about her son.

Time passed. Leaves rustled, wind blew, and Harry didn’t come.

The Dark Lord was growing restless, and, just then, a sigh sounded and Harry appeared wandless, vulnerable and ready to die. 

Except he wasn’t alone. Narcissa could feel it- an endless stream of motherly love, completely enveloping him. 

She was struck, once again, how young he was. This child, who wasn’t even eighteen yet, who should have had his whole life in front of him, was going to die here today. He was sacrificing himself for the greater good, and Narcissa had never been so angry at the world.

Potter lifted his head, and his eyes were so green. His jaw was set, his hands outstretched, his hair a mess, and he dropped something onto the mossy ground.

This was the boy who Narcissa’s son loved. Injustice was a cruel, cruel monster.

Voldemort started a speech, and Harry’s hands twitched. He closed his eyes, and a flash of green struck him right in the centre of his chest.

His eyes didn’t even open. His face relaxed, and he looked like a baby, and he fell. And that was it. 

The boy who lived had become the boy who died, and time stopped.

~

They were waiting. She didn’t know what for, but they were waiting. Five minutes passed, and Harry didn’t move.

Voldemort stood staring at his body. And then:

“Narcissa, check if he’s alive.”

Blood pounding in her ears, she made her way over to him. She tapped him on the arm, and his finger twitched.

She inhaled sharply and immediately leaned over him.

“Harry… my boy, Draco, is he in the castle? Is he alive?”

Potter looked at her then, his face full of terror because _why didn’t he die,_  and mouthed:

“Yes.”

She could have cried right then. She almost did, but instead she stood and announced:

“Harry Potter is dead.”

The Death Eaters cheered and clapped, and Hagrid sobbed. She didn’t hear them, though.

Her boy was safe, and that was all that mattered.

~

Hagrid carried Harry back to the castle, sobbing and sniffling and running his fingers over Harry’s face every so often.

The courtyard was destroyed. Rubble lay everywhere, and bright red blood was mixed with dusty stone. A line of Death Eaters stood at the entrance, and they parted for Voldemort, Narcissa and Hagrid.

Neville Longbottom came limping out. He was injured and crestfallen, and, when he noticed Harry in Hagrid’s arms, he screamed.

An army of students flooded the other side of the courtyard, and almost every single one of them screamed when they saw Harry’s body.

Draco was one of the last ones to exit the destroyed castle and, when he saw Hagrid, his face collapsed with grief. He lined up with the students.

“Harry Potter… is dead!” Shrieked Voldemort, and the Death Eaters all cheered. “You may come join us now… Draco?” 

Everyone turned to stare at the boy in question. He glanced around uneasily. 

“Draco!” Lucius cried.”Come here!”

“Draco,” Narcissa murmured. Her baby was alive and safe.

Draco glanced around again and stood still.

Neville began limping towards Voldemort. The Death Eaters laughed, and Voldemort said:

“Well, we were expecting better, but…” 

Neville stopped short. He looked around, at his fellow students, at the broken castle, at himself. He shuddered, and spoke. He told of how Harry hadn’t died in vain, and how they would keep fighting for him, and how he had killed Nagini, the last Horcrux, and how he would rather die than live in a world where Voldemort wins.

And just when he was pulling out the sword of Gryffindor, Harry leaped from Hagrid’s arms.

 In a flash, Draco was running towards him with his wand outstretched. He tore across the courtyard, legs and arms flapping, and it seemed like he was flying.

“POTTER!” He screamed, and, when Harry turned to look at him, he threw his wand.

Harry caught it, looked at it, glanced at Draco, nodded, and fired a curse at Voldemort.

And all Hell broke loose. 

No one could believe it. Draco Malfoy, Death Eater and sworn enemy of Harry Potter, had sacrificed his wand to save his nemesis's life.

Narcissa looked at her son, then- truly looked at him- and saw a fierce resilience and fire burning within him. He turned to look at her, then spun on his heel and ran into the castle.

Draco, her beautiful little dragon. The most curious boy in the world. The boy who didn’t have a choice. The boy who shone, like a present, in the moment where it all could’ve ended.

Her eyes snapped to the scene before her. Harry Potter, bearing her son’s wand, was slowly defeating Voldemort. She nodded once to herself, reached for Lucius’s hand, and walked away.

~

Time was a very funny thing.

Narcissa and Lucius returned to the manor without Draco, who was staying behind to help rebuild the castle. Aurors came and arrested Lucius, and Narcissa, who refused to be arrested, travelled with them to the temporary cells in the Ministry of Magic where they were held for five days. 

Draco joined them on the third day. He was tired, and filthy, but he looked as though a weight was lifted off his shoulders, and that was all Narcissa ever wanted for him: she wanted peace for him.

On the fifth day, Harry Potter came. He strode in, demanded that Narcissa and Draco were not to be held without trial, and they had gone straight to the courtroom on his orders. They had faced trial, and Harry had the two of them cleared of all crimes within the hour.

Lucius, however, was not so lucky. He was sentenced to life in Azkaban; Harry had done no grovelling on his behalf.

After the trial, it was as though it was that day on Platform 9¾ again. Draco was beside her, completely rigid and thrumming with an energy she now understood, and Harry was across from them. She glanced between the two boys, who seemed to be locked in some sort of staring contest, and smiled to herself.

Yes, they definitely ruffled each other’s feathers.

“Harry,” she said softly, breaking the two of them out of their trance. She took his hand and said:

“Thank you. For everything. I owe you my life, Harry Potter, and you are always and forever welcome in my home.”

Harry glanced down at their hands in surprise.

“Mrs Malfoy,” he started, but she held up her other hand.

“Narcissa.” she said, smiling.

“Narcissa.” His voice cracked in the middle of it. “You and your son saved my life twice. I thank you.”

He turned to a rigid Draco. He reached into his back pocket. 

“Malfoy,” he said. “I believe this is yours?”

 Draco’s eyes sparkled as he took in the sight of his wand. He glanced up at Harry.

“Potter, I do believe it is.” His accent was posher than Narcissa had ever heard it. She raised her eyebrow- what was that about?- as he held his hand out expectantly.

Narcissa rolled her eyes. Yes, that was her son.

As Harry handed over the wand, their fingertips brushed and they stared at each other again. Draco slipped his wand into his own back pocket.

Finally, Harry held out his hand for a handshake. Draco peered at it, sneered, and took it.

“Malfoy.” Harry repeated, shaking his hand.

“Potter." 

And, in that moment, _something_ was formed. Narcissa wasn’t sure what that something was, but it was there all along, and she slipped away quietly. 

~ 

After the war, she had moved to France, and Draco had stayed in England to train as a healer. When she had left, Draco was just moving into his new flat, and he was on the way to rebuilding himself and who he was before Voldemort. 

He was still snooty, and fussy, and prickly, but he was also curious and funny and affectionate and so entirely himself that it made Narcissa’s heart swell.

These days he wore his hair long, and he liked wearing muggle clothes and reading muggle novels and watching muggle sports with his muggle friends. And he enjoyed cooking, and hosting parties, and going out for dinner, and he _loved_ his job because he could help people in ways he needed people to help him but no one understood him the way he needed to be understood.  

Six years had passed, and he was now a fully-grown man. He’d had his Dark Mark tattooed over. He now smiled more than he ever had before, and every time she saw him he had even more laughter lines.

And it was all Harry Potter’s fault. 

He had gone on to become an auror and a good friend of Draco’s, and spent his life saving people's lives. Draco became his go-to healer, and they’d spent quite a while pining for each other before Harry had been in a terrible accident and had apparated straight to Draco’s apartment at 3am one terrible night. Apparently he nearly died, and so had spent a month in the hospital.

Draco didn’t leave his side once. When Harry finally came around, he found Draco holding his hand. Allegedly, her son had called him a “stupid suicidal idiot” and kissed him right there and then.

Well, whatever the story, they had been together for three years now, and engaged for a year.

Time soldiers on, Narcissa supposed.

As she gazed out at her rose garden, she’s struck with a feeling of fleeting sadness. Seeing her son grow was the greatest pleasure and the greatest pain of her life, and she thanked Merlin every morning that she had Draco. 

Her Floo roared to life, and out stepped Molly and Arthur Weasley, dressed in their finest. Molly was already sobbing into her handkerchief, and Narcissa welcomed her with open arms. Watching a child grow into an adult was a remarkable thing, especially when you had bucket loads of motherly love for them.

She could ponder life and remember things fondly later. 

Now, though, she had her son’s wedding to go to, and she wouldn’t have missed it for the world.


End file.
